


Warm Illusion

by aingeal



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Nipple Play, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25357822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aingeal/pseuds/aingeal
Summary: The Winter Soldier makes love to a man who he cannot remember, but knows in his bones.Shrinkyclinks porn.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

It's unclear how the following circumstances came to occur.  
All we can say is that they did.  
We might think of it as an instance of savage grace, a dark sort of heaven out of time. 

~

In the dark the pale man's skin gleams. This the target, the objective. Skin. 

The Winter Soldier is stood very close to the pale man. The pale man has his back to the wall, and he has to crane his neck to look up at the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier cannot read the expression on the pale man's face. He is used to people looking at him with fear. He is able to sense fear like a shark senses blood. He does sense fear now, yet the pale man is not trying to escape. His pale eyes in his pale face glimmer in the gloom, and they are trained upwards, unwaveringly. He is making eye contact with the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier thinks maybe the eyes are pleading. They are not pleading not to be killed, which is all that eyes normally plead to the Winter Soldier. There is something else here beyond life and death, which is all the Winter Soldier normally deals with. Yet the pale man's eyes are pleading.

The pale man swallows, his adam's apple bobbing noticeably, and he wets his lips as if to speak. The Winter Soldier cannot have that, cannot have speech, cannot take what this man might give him with his words, and so the Winter Soldier's metal arm implacably raises itself and holds the pale man's jaw still. The calibration required to hold and not crush is a conscious effort. The Winter Soldier concentrates on holding the pale man's jaw in his metal hand, and he also makes a sound like a dog, a low harsh growl, to tell the pale man to shut up.

The pale man swallows again, with his mouth open, making a wet noise, and his eyes have gone liquid, but he nods, just perceptibly, and he doesn't try to speak. 

The Winter Soldier is looking at the pale man's mouth. The lips are very pink, and behind them the teeth are very white and even. The red wet tongue moves as the pale man swallows. Saliva gleams on the lower lip. The pale man is breathing very heavily and very slowly. Beneath the palm of the Winter Soldier's metal hand the pale man's throat throbs with his pulse. The pulse is very high, and hard, and again the Winter Soldier senses fear, but also acquiescence, and also something else he cannot find a word for. The pale man is very still. The Winter Soldier moves the metal fingers and with his metal thumb touches the damp lower lip, where the saliva catches the faint light. He can smell the oily smell of his own metal, like an engine. He pushes the metal thumb over the gleaming pink lower lip and behind the white teeth and touches the strong muscle of the tongue. The pale man makes a sound like he is choking, but he is not choking, for the metal hand is only holding his throat, not strangling it. The pale man's tongue moves on the metal thumb, tremblingly and involuntarily. 

The Winter Soldier holds his thumb inside the pale man's mouth and looks at it. He looks at the pale man's face, marked slightly with red fingerprint marks from the grip of the metal, and also marked with a deeper blush that is coming from the inside, high on the cheekbones. The Winter Soldier looks into the pale man's eyes and as their gazes meet, he feels inside himself a sensation. He doesn't know a name for the sensation, but it is low in his belly and feels like a punch without pain. It makes him want, more than he has wanted. He is here because of his wanting. He had a sense of the pale man and so he found him, because of want. Unheard of, for the Winter Soldier to want. Yet, he wanted. And now he wants more. 

Skin is what he wants. His eyes rove over the pale man's face, over that marked up facial skin, and the pale and pink and red and wet of his jaw and lips beneath the metal hand, and the long white line of his neck, down to the angle of his shoulder. The pale man's clavicle is very prominent, and there are hollows dark above them and inbetween the sternocleidomastoids. The knob of his acromioclavicular joint is evident. The pale man is wearing a white ribbed cotton undershirt that interrupts the line of his bones and conceals more of his skin. It is in the Winter Soldier's way. The Winter Soldier removes the metal hand from the pale man's jaw and mouth. The finger pads stick slightly from where the heat of the pale man's skin has warmed and lightly dampened them. The thumb clinks, very quietly, against the pale man's teeth, as the Winter Soldier withdraws it, and a beaded string of hot saliva connects the thumb and the pale man's lips for a long instant. The pale man sighs loudly, with a hitch and a shudder, his chest rising and falling spasmodically beneath the undershirt. 

With the metal hand, the Winter Soldier takes hold of the neckline of the undershirt. For a moment he rubs the cotton between metal thumb and finger, because it is warm from the pale man's skin. Then he calmly rips the shirt through from top to bottom in one motion. The sound of tearing cotton is loud, but beneath it he can hear a sound escape from the pale man; a tiny cry. The Winter Soldier makes his dog noise again to warn against speech, though the pale man's sound had sent something through him like a hot knife. He is preoccupied by the undershirt, now no longer a shirt, but a limp rag lying in the metal hand. The Winter Soldier raises the cloth to his face, touching it to his cheek and his mouth. It is warm. The pale man's skin has warmed it. He breathes in the warmness, feeling the hot breath from his own mouth infusing the cotton. The shirt has a scent, unnamable, faint, but the Winter Soldier feels ravenous for this scent, it smells familiar to him, he is greedy to smell it, and he inhales deeply through his nose over and over, huffing in that delicate scent, trying to capture all its nuances and take it inside himself. The scent is delicate though, and fades quickly from the cloth along with the warmth from the pale man's body. 

The Winter Soldier drops the torn shirt on the floor and returns his attention to the pale man's skin. Now he is bare and the Winter Soldier can see the full expanse of the skin of his chest, so pale in the half light that he seems to glow. The metal hand raises itself again, almost involuntarily, and touches the pale man's shoulder. The metal fingertips have become cold again and the pale man twitches at their touch, his skin puckering into goose pimples, and a shiver goes through his whole body, but he doesn't cry out. The Winter Soldier wants to see the pale man shiver and twitch again, so he takes the metal hand and touches the pale man's ribs, on his right side, and traces them down, feeling the sharpness of the protruding bone and the dips in-between, feeling how tightly his skin is tacked there. This time the pale man gasps, and, to the Winter Soldier's satisfaction, twitches hard and erupts into trembling. The trembling carries on, violently, all over, as the Winter Soldier holds the metal fingers to the pale man's side and strokes them there, delicately. The Winter Soldier makes a noise himself; a low, pleased purr softly from his throat. He can feel that his heart rate is elevated, feel it thumping in his chest. He feels warm all over. 

Now he wants heat. The metal hand can feel a lot of things, and can tell when it itself is warmer or cooler, but it cannot really feel the temperature or texture of objects. So he swaps to his flesh hand, his right hand. The metal hand moves to the pale man's chest, pressing him against the wall firmly, so he can't move, and where he can feel the hammering of his heart within the chest cavity. 

The Winter Soldier's right hand now touches the pale man's face, roving gently, feeling ever so much more than the metal hand could. He can feel how very soft the skin is, can feel the slight down of hair on his upper lip, can even feel the pores of his cheek. The skin of the lips is more delicate than any other by far, so thin the blood shows through. It feels slightly crinkly, a little dry where the whistle of the pale man's breath has evaporated the saliva. The pale man's lips part. The Winter Soldier is not sure, but he thinks that he can sense that the pale man is wanting, wanting the same thing that the Winter Soldier is wanting, which is for the Winter Soldier to slip his flesh thumb into the pale man's mouth. He does that. 

It is so different to be able to feel the heat and wetness of it, unlike before. The heat is shocking, it is the shocking hot of unspilled, living blood. The teeth are wet and sharp-edged, catching the rough skin and callouses of the Winter Soldier's thumb. The pale man's breath has gone harsh and fast, and the Winter Soldier can feel it, cool, on his skin wet with saliva. The tongue moves like a beast with its own will, fluttering against the Winter Soldier's thumb. The Winter Soldier brings his face close, he wants to see as well as feel, the way the pale man has opened his mouth and let the Winter Soldier put his thumb inside. The Winter Soldier makes another noise like growl, but a different one. This one is involuntary and harsh, rumbling from inside his chest, low and reverberating. He moves his thumb, pressing the tongue down, going deeper into the cavity of the pale man's mouth, and the pale man takes it, he closes his lips around the base of the thumb and swallows around it, the flesh of his palette and tongue pressing and releasing around the thumb.  
The Winter Soldier's growl goes louder. He looks at the sight of the pale man's mouth closed around his thumb. The rest of his fingers stroke the angle of the jaw, the jawbone, the ear. The pale man's eyes meet his own once more and again the Winter Soldier feels the punch inside himself, and this time it makes him groan out loud from how it feels, its strength. Tears gather at the corner of the pale man's pale eyes, refracting like crystals, and then he blinks and they slide down his cheeks, glinting, and he makes a high, keening sound in his throat that matches the Winter Soldier's low groan. 

The Winter Soldier pulls his thumb out of the pale man's mouth, a little too fast so that the teeth catch him, and, not knowing what he is really doing, puts his face to the pale man's. His hand wraps gently around the pale man's throat so that he can feel the judder of the pulse and the rising and falling of the breath. He opens his mouth against the pale man's cheek and touches his own tongue to the pale man's tears. He tastes their salt and beneath that the indescribable taste of skin. It explodes in his mouth like stars. Everything in him wants to take, wants to hold tight and squeeze, but he knows if he did that he would suffocate the pale man, and he cannot will not ever do that. But he is breathing harsh and loud like an animal against the pale man, rubbing himself against him, feeling his own rough stubble harsh on the delicate skin, and smelling the grease in his own lank hair as it falls all over the pale man's face. He wants so much he feels he is going to lose his control. He _is_ losing his control, he doesn't know what he is doing any more. His body is so hot, he can smell his own sweat, and that too seems to add to this frenzy coming over him. 

The pale man is so alive underneath him, he has pushed his body up against the Winter Soldier's and tipped his head back to expose his face more to the Winter Soldier's wild onslaught, his mouth open as he exhales, and with each exhale he makes a moan. The pale man wants what the Winter Soldier wants. The pale man wants what the Winter Soldier is doing to him.  
The Winter Soldier covers the pale man's mouth with his own, greedy for his breath, the taste of him, his heat. He pushes his tongue inside, thrusting with it, filling up the pale man's mouth. The pale man seems to fall open at this. His body slackens beneath the Winter Soldier and his jaw relaxes, opening for the intrusion of the Winter Soldier's tongue. The Winter Soldier can feel that, feel how the pale man yields for him. It makes him want to roar. He is making sounds as he kisses the pale man like this, sounds like he has been starving all winter and just been given permission to feed, like he wants to consume the pale man entirely. He does; all the wanting is now in his mouth and both of his hands, which are grasping and rubbing at the pale man's shoulders, at his chest, at his waist, and his stomach. The skin feels like it is singing. 

The Winter Soldier pulls away. The Winter Soldier looks at the pale man and even his looking is like feasting. The pale man's face is marked with the grazes of the Winter Soldier's stubble. His lips look red and bruised, wet, as he pants for breath. He is looking at the Winter Soldier like he wants to fight. The Winter Soldier knows that look of the pale man. How? It is a stutter of memory, a shard from who knows where. The Winter Soldier thinks it might be like religion, to remember something that you also see in front of you, that is real and happening and alive, even as it is preserved in amber from some obscure past. 

It is too confusing. He doesn't want to think of it. His practiced focus returns, easily, to his body, scanning his sensations. The wanting is in him, but it is not as thunderous as it was; his frenzy has passed. But it feels all the stronger for that, all the deeper, all the sweeter. It throbs in him. He can feel the throbbing of the pale man's body too. He can see how the heartbeat rocks the slight frame, and the rapidity of the pulse thudding through the external jugular vein. He places his mouth against the blood beneath the surface there, and the pale man sighs. He puts his mouth, open, to the knob of the acromion, and to the hollow above the manubrium of sternum. He lingers there, inhaling. His flesh fingers trace the clavicle. He strokes the pectoralis major muscle, underdeveloped, doing little to pad the hard costal cartilage beneath the skin. He finds the pink nipple with his fingertips. Saliva floods his mouth and he wants to place his lips over it, so he does. His nose is close by the underarm, its tufty hair tickling him. He catches the scent of sweat, warm and sharp and a little musty, and pushes his face towards it instinctively. He uses the metal hand to make the pale man raise his arm up so he can rub into that scent with his mouth and nose. It fuels the slow-burning embers inside him. He breaths it heavily in, whilst his flesh fingers return to the pale man's nipple to stroke and rub it til it hardens. 

These unknown acts come from nowhere, he doesn't know how he can know them, how he can be wanting them and doing them without knowing them, with no training. He wants them so much. He wants his mouth on the pale man again. He seeks out and closes his mouth over the nipple and licks and sucks and scrapes it with his teeth until the pale man cries out. He can feel that pleasure is arcing through the pale man's body, radiating out from this tiny point of sensitivity. Pleasure. This is a word that he has had no need for, and so it has atrophied along with the rest of the language he hasn't had any use of for so long. The word comes back to him now though, and the shape of it brightening in his mind seems to set off a feedback loop, as he recognises its meaning in the sensations of his own body; his heavy thighs and hard heartbeat, the odd lightness in his belly and the almost-painful ache between his legs. The word _pleasure_ seems to spark more of itself inside him, set the embers inside igniting into flames again. He wants to give it to the pale man. 

The Winter Soldier sinks to his knees, his head level with the pale man's stomach, and so he can't help mouthing him there, using his lips and tongue, tracing the belly button. The pale man shudders and moves his pelvis, and his skin is taken over, finely, with driving waves of shivers and trembling. It drives the Winter Soldier to distraction, it is too much. He has to rest his head on the pale man's stomach for a moment, and hold onto his hips with both hands. He finds more fabric here, pointlessly. The Winter Soldier tugs at the fly until the buttons ping off, no patience for unfastening one by one, and pulls the pants down along with the underwear beneath. He shoves them down past the pale man's knees and then tugs them over his feet, feeling him wobble off-balance. But now he is bare all over, as it should be.

Now his penis is right there. The Winter Soldier's attention hones in on it, excitement rocking his heavy frame. The pale man is rigidly hard, his erection a slender arc up to his belly, wet at the tip, drooling against his own skin, so red there that it is almost purple. The Winter Soldier wants to look at it forever. He can smell the scent of the pale man, his own vivid personal scent- the same as the scent of his shirt and his mouth and his underarm, but more potent and darker- a musk that makes the Winter Soldier's own rock-hard erection throb and ache within the confines of his tactical pants. He is salivating.

He takes the pale man into his mouth. The taste makes him groan around the hard flesh, which makes the pale man move his hips, which makes the Winter Soldier take him in deeper. He closes his eyes and flattens his tongue and relaxes his jaw and throat so he can take him all in, down to the hilt, so that the pale man's pale pubic hair tickles against his face. He groans again, letting the vibrations of it reverberate in his skull to please the pale man further. The pale man is making desperate noises that are so close to the sounds of pain. The pale man's pelvis jolts upwards, pushing himself at the Winter Soldier, so he firmly takes hold of the hips on either side and presses them back to the wall. As he desires, the pale man submits to the pressure, and he can tell that this makes him feel even better, makes him come further undone. Of course, this in turn undoes the Winter Soldier, so that he redoubles his attention to the pale man's cock in his mouth.

Then the Winter Soldier feels something- - the pale man's hands. They are touching his head, his hair. Small, slender hands, that are stroking and gentling, cupping the Winter Soldier's skull in themselves. This- - this cannot be-- it is-- it is short-circuiting something in the Winter Soldier's brain. The pleasure and desire within him seem suddenly moved to one side by some other feeling, that is rising in his heart, making it clench so tight it hurts, and rising up in his throat and eyes spontaneously. He can't have this, he can't accept it. He pulls away, letting the pale man's cock slip from between his lips, and grasps the pale man's wrists tight in the metal hand. He thrills to feel the bones, delicate like a bird's, grinding within his grip, to know he is capable of holding gently enough to maybe bruise but not truly harm. 

— да нет — he growls —не делай этого опять— [ _Da Net*. Ne delay etogo opyat_ "No. Do not do that again."]

He hears the Russian coming out of his mouth and feels something else that he has not felt in a long time. He would choose not to name it, but the word comes into his mind unbidden anyway. Shame. He knows that the words will make no sense to the pale man, are the wrong language, are foreign in a wrong and frightening way. That's how they also feel to him, when he speaks them. 

"Put your hands on your head," he slurs in English instead, letting go the pale man's wrists, and knowing again that his voice is not what it should be, that there has somehow some time been different speech when it comes to the pale man. The sounds should be different, have a different stress and accent. It's like his vocal cords have rusted over from lack of use, like they have forgotten something that used to be home. He has said these six words many times over, of course, and that too feels wrong, for this context, for this task he is doing, so different from the other tasks that those words belong to. 

But the pale man has obeyed. He is looking down at the Winter Soldier, with his hands laced on top of his head, and his pale body stretched out, and his eyes hooded and his lips parted, and a dark flush on his cheeks and his chest and his stomach, and the sight of him like that is so erotic that it floods out all the dark and twisted violent things from the Winter Soldier's mind.

He takes the pale man back into his mouth, just the tip this time, so he can roll his tongue around it and taste him all through his mouth, while he takes the shaft in his flesh hand and strokes him firmly, and keep his eyes on the pale man's face. His eyelids flutter as the Winter Soldier watches, but he manages to keep them open, so that their gazes are locked, as the Winter Soldier plays his tongue on the most sensitive part of his body. The Winter Soldier's body feels like he is going to burst as he watches the pleasure move over the pale man's face, making his brows peak and his mouth open in a shocked "O", as high helpless moans spill from him over and over. The pale man seems to strain against something, his head lashing from side to side, but then the Winter Soldier feels him surge in his mouth as he reaches his climax with a broken cry. The Winter Soldier sucks him in deep and tongues him through the intense orgasm, relishing the hot semen flooding his mouth and swallowing it eagerly, until he feels the pale man's twitches and noises becoming overwhelmed and pained, and pulls away. 

He rests his forehead on the pale man's stomach, feeling sweat slicking between them. His breathing is harsh and ragged and his heart hammers in his ears like a weapon. He wants to come himself, badly, but not yet; he isn't ready to relinquish the pale man yet. He still wants more.

> * Lit. "yes, no", untranslatable.[ More detail:](https://learnrussian.rt.com/speak-russian/how-say-no-russian:)  
>  _There’s a very tricky “no” form that is difficult to explain as it consists of two contrasting words, “yes and no” or, in Russian, “Da nyet”. It’s like you agree in a way, but disagree more. “Da nyet” is mainly used to say “no” in Russian when the speaker is undecided but seems to lean more in the direction of a negative answer."_


	2. Chapter 2

After breathing a while with his head on the pale man's stomach, the Winter Soldier becomes aware that the pale man is shivering slightly, but not from excitement this time. He still has his hands on his head. It is cold here, and the pale man is naked. The Winter Soldier feels a bolt of tenderness, for the pale man's naked vulnerability, for how is cock is still wet from the Winter Soldier's mouth and must feel cold too, in the evaporating air, and for the fact he is still obeying the Winter Soldier's command. The Winter Soldier stands, unsteady-feeling, and looms over the pale man. The pale man meets his eyes again, and this time the feeling of it isn't like a hard punch in the gut, but like a long drawn-out note, as they look at each other in the quiet and stillness. The tenderness inside the Winter Soldier seizes up and begins to meld into desire again- the pale man's face is still marked from the Winter Soldier's rough attentions, and there are tears dried in track marks on his cheeks, and his slender arms are so lovely, with their goosepimples and clean lines, and then his hands there, laced atop his head, with their long artistic fingers... 

The Winter Soldier feels lost in looking at him. Those hands especially- hands that had reached out for him, touched his head, his lank hair, with unbearable trust. The Winter Soldier takes the pale man's hands in his own, bringing them to his face. He studies them, admiring the clean oval fingernails, the protruding red knuckles, the tendons and veins so prominent beneath the pale skin. His own flesh hand looks rough and mangled in contrast with the pale man's perfect one inside it, with its myriad silvery scars from knife fights, its rough callouses fitted for triggers and knife handles and strangulation, its dark hair. And his other hand, his left hand, his metal hand, doesn't bear thinking about. It hurts the Winter Soldier to see the pale man's hand held by that murderous metal. 

The pale man moves his thumb, very lightly, on the plates that make up the simulacra of the abductor muscle of the palm of the metal hand. The metal hand can't feel it, it's too gentle, but the Winter Soldier can see it, and he can feel the emotion that he doesn't want and can't comprehend, which this act is making him feel inside. He closes the hand around the pale man's hand, forcing it to be still. 

— нет — he says again [ _net_ , "no"]. He doesn't want it, but Russian is what comes. He can't help it. But there's a crack in his voice that he's never heard before, like he doesn't really mean it. He looks at the pale man's hand held still in the metal hand. He can feel that the pale man is looking at his face, intently, like he wants to argue, but won't. He can feel the force of the gaze. The Winter Soldier won't meet his eyes this time. 

They seem to be stuck like this, for a long moment, but the Winter Soldier is still hard behind his flies, and the pale man is still naked and cold before him. The tenderness returns. He can't bear to think of the pale man being cold. Coldness is anathema to the Winter Soldier, he has been so cold himself, he knows how it feels. He can't stand it. He knows the best way to bring up another human being's body temperature is skin-to-skin contact. The idea excites him. 

The Winter Soldier suddenly picks up the pale man, not in a fireman's lift, roughly over his shoulder, as he would with a target that is wanted alive, but gently, scooping the pale man's legs from underneath him and holding behind his knees, his other arm wrapped around his back. The pale man loops his arms around the Winter Soldier's neck to hold on, gasping a little at being swung so suddenly off his feet. The Winter Soldier looks around, and sees, in a corner, a bed. An iron-framed bed, made up with old-fashioned sheets and woollen blankets. He didn't notice there was a bed before. Beside and above the bed is a small window. A grey pre-dawn light is coming into the room through the window, but it can't be dawn because it isn't getting any brighter, it's staying this low, barely-there glow. He doesn't need to think about that. There is a bed.

He carries the pale man over to the bed and places him on his feet. He pulls aside the covers and gestures at it- get in. The pale man does, sliding his slim white body between the clean white sheets, and drawing the covers up to his chest. Good. Now he will be warm. 

The Winter Soldier strips himself. Off comes his ratty jersey, stained and torn and roughly mended, stinking of sweat, oil and blood. Unbuckled comes his belt, unzipped his tactical pants. They sound heavy as they hit the floor, full as they are with weapons and bullets. There is no underwear; the Winter Soldier is not considered to require such fripperies, they are not in the budget for him. 

The Winter Soldier climbs into the bed beside the pale man. He feels how heavy he is from the way the mattress sinks with his weight, making it dip towards himself, making the pale man move towards him without volition. The pale man's face has an expression that could be read as fear again, his eyes glistening, his body still, but the Winter Soldier doesn't think he is actually afraid. He thinks the pale man is waiting to see what the Winter Soldier will do next. 

The Winter Soldier can feel the cold radiating from the pale man, so he pulls the pale man to him, his flesh arm going round the pale man's back so that their chests are together. The pale man is slight as a girl in his arms. The Winter Soldier runs his hand up and down the pale man's spine. Each vertebrae is so clearly defined. He counts them, like bullets in his hand. He feels the pale man's ribs again, all twelve of them on each side, fitting his fingers into the gaps between them. He can feel the pale man's skin respond, puckering up into goosepimples and shivering and then, warming. He chafes the pale man with the hard flat of his palm, all over his back and sides, firmly, raising more warmth. He feels the pale man beginning to flush with warmth all over. 

— да. — murmurs the Winter Soldier, pleased, too far gone to think about what language he is speaking, moving his hands slowly over the warm skin —хороший мальчик. — [ _Da. Khoroshiy mal'chik_ "Yes. Good boy."]

It becomes warmer and warmer, as their body heat mingles and deepens, trapped within the blankets. Scents rise from their bodies, becoming stronger. The Winter Soldier inhales deeply, smelling his own raw masculine odour, and the clean warm smell of the pale man, enjoying how they blend together. He can smell sex, smell his own cock and the pale man's come, which he can still taste. A growl rumbles through his chest. It's rising up again, the wanting. His heartbeat starts up pounding again. He can feel how rapid the pale man's breathing is, his chest rising and falling against the Winter Soldier's. He is so small. The Winter Soldier wants to possess all of him. He wants to have him all for himself. 

He rolls them over so that the pale man is on his back, and covers his body with his own, their legs tangling. He holds himself up with one elbow and hangs over the pale man for a moment, before lowering his face to the pale man's neck, burying it there in the angle between his neck and shoulder. The heat is overwhelming, the softness of the pale man's skin against his own almost too much to bear. He mouths at the pale man's neck, sucking and kissing, wanting to leave a mark. Beneath him the pale man has started to buck upwards, and make needy noises. A rhythm is coming on, their hips are beginning to move together as they entwine further. The pale man's arms are around the Winter Soldier's neck, but that's ok, because all he's doing is clinging on for dear life.

The rhythm deepens, the Winter Soldier has begun to rock himself against the pale man, and he can tell that if he carried on like that he could make himself come, from rubbing his cock against the pale man's skin, from the movement that sends deep heat pooling in his pelvis. He's surprisingly close, just from that. But that would not be sufficient.

He gets his hands on the pale man's thighs, underneath, where the skin is so soft, and moves them apart, spreading them so he can fit himself inbetween. The pale man goes suddenly still, like prey, and his eyes are pleading again, but again it's not from fear of death. It's from want. The Winter Soldier can feel his want from how still he has gone, how pliable. 

—хороший, хороший, — [ _Khoroshiy, khoroshiy_ , "good, good,"] he murmurs over and over, stroking those inner thighs. The word is strange to him, but this time in a right way, like pleasure had been. Nothing could he have called good, up til now, and so now he relishes how good it is, wants to commemorate it in language. The pale man might not understand, but perhaps he can tell from the Winter Soldier's tone, how he can't stop saying it, what the foreign syllables mean.

The inner thighs go all the way up, so soft, his hands venture further and further upwards, until he finds the crease at the top where they meet the pale man's buttocks. His buttocks feel firm, and good. He squeezes them. The Winter Soldier wants to sink his teeth into this firm muscle, and because the pale man has let him do everything he wants to him, so far, he flips him, easily, with the metal hand, throwing back the blankets simultaneously, and shimmies down the bed on his knees. He manipulates the pale man onto his hands and knees, so that his behind is held high whilst his face sinks down into the folds of his elbows. The Winter Soldier feels animal hotness go through his pelvis at the sight of the pale man's body in that position. He takes hold of the buttocks in each hand and bites one, gently, barely indenting the firm flesh with his teeth, but it still makes the pale man buck and cry out. He doesn't try to move away, though. The Winter Soldier pulls back and looks at the double crescent of teeth-marks on the skin, red and slightly wet with saliva. It pleases him deeply. He puts his mouth back on the mark and kisses it, tongues it, and then he moves his mouth and nose, tonguing and nosing, biting here and there, further over the muscle, until he reaches the cleft. He pauses there, a new desire blossoming. He noses at the top of the cleft, rubbing his cheek on the sacrum. 

The pale man, barely perceptibly, moves his hips backwards, offering himself, asking for it wordlessly.  
The Winter Soldier groans and feels words burbling in his brain that he wants to say- this time in English- words that feel like they belonged to some different voice than the one inhabiting his throat now- yes, you want it, you want it don't you?, baby boy, you're so good, I'm gonna give it to you, I'm gonna give it to you so good, you want it so bad, look at you, yes, good boy, just like that, just let me, just let me give it to you, yes, good, good, _хороший, хороший..._

Only the last words make it out, he's stuck on them, but from the way they sound he feels they convey all the rest he wants but cannot manage to say. 

He noses down the sacrum and lower, into the crack, and pauses there, scenting, nosing, before he reaches with his tongue and licks. He licks a long, slow trail downwards until his tongue reaches the pucker of the pale man's anus, and then he licks into that, with the broad hot wet flat of his tongue, over and over and over. 

The pale man is making sounds like the Winter Soldier has never heard before- loud, impulsive moans from his open mouth, punctuated with deep, shuddering sighs, as he tries to hold himself together. The Winter Soldier pulls away for a moment, so he can see the pale man's knuckles are white where he is clutching the sheet, see the sweat dampening his hair. His knees are sliding outwards, opening his hips up. The Winter Soldier purrs lowly, a deep, deep, rumble, and pushes his face back between the pale man's legs, greedy for the dark, sharp taste of him, eager for the way the pale man is yielding, melting, beneath him. The anus is responding to the Winter Soldier's tongue, twitching, slackening, then tightening again, before once more slackening, until it seems to give way and open up fully, accompanied by a loud exclamation from the pale man and a growl from the Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier wants to fuck, now. He has had enough build up. He can feel his pelvis moving spasmodically, his cock hanging low and heavy, feel how he wants to rut and cover and possess. He reaches with his metal hand and hooks two fingers into the pale man's eager hole, slipping them in, pushing and parting, making sure the pale man is loose, and ready, and wet with saliva. He is all of those things.

The Winter Soldier moves up the bed and covers the pale man's back with his chest. His flesh arm wraps round and caresses the narrow chest, the taught stomach, whilst the metal hand pushes the thighs further apart, strokes the anus one final time, and then guides the Winter Soldier's cockhead there. 

The pale man whimpers as he is penetrated, and the Winter Soldier whispers things into his hair, unintelligible gentling sounds. The whimpers twist into a cry as the Winter Soldier sheaths himself inside the pale man's body. The Winter Soldier's cock is long and thick, and hard as nails. The pale man's passage is so tight, but it cannot resist, and the Winter Soldier groans loudly as he feels the flesh yielding to him. The pale man has tears running down his cheeks. The Winter Soldier kisses them. He breathes —хороший мальчик, —again and again, good boy, good boy, as he settles himself deeper into the pale man's body, inexorably filling him, holding himself still, just letting his cock slide further and further in, until he has claimed the pale man entirely.

He stays still for several heartbeats, feeling how their breathing has synchronised, how they seem to be moulded, for this instant, from one clay. He holds himself still, master of body control that he is, until the pale man starts to move, starts to beg for more with his body. The hips jitter back and then forward, tentatively at first, and then, when that clearly fills him with unbearable pleasure, more purposefully. He begins to rock himself back and forth on the Winter Soldier's cock, little gasps escaping him each time he is filled again. The Winter Soldier smiles, savagely, pleased beyond measure to see the eagerness of the pale man fucking himself over and over on his cock. He holds himself still and lets the pale man do the work, just holding his hips lightly, letting himself be ridden like this. 

But soon heat begins to roar in his pelvis, and his thighs, and the urge to rut comes over him. It's time for him to take control. With his flesh hand he pushes the pale man's head down onto the mattress, tangling his fingers into his hair. The pale man's mouth opens wetly on a shocked, highly arousing moan, and his eyes roll back in his head. He wants to be taken, his whole body is throbbing and begging silently for it, the Winter Soldier can feel it. The Winter Soldier will take him. The metal hand grasps his hips hard enough to bruise, and the rut begins to stir, his hips slowly beginning to grind, pushing deeper, opening the pale man further, bowing him into the mattress. The pale man has gone totally limp beneath him, so acquiescent, so compliant. The Winter Soldier now begins to fuck in earnest, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, his cock sliding almost fully out and then back in to the hilt. The pale man's passage is so wet and open, so yielding, offering no resistance as the Winter Soldier pounds into his body with might. 

He is so gone, red misting his vision, nothing but animalistic urge to thrust and thrust and thrust filling his mind, but then he looks down and sees the pale man spread open, totally undone, being shoved hard into the bed with every thrust, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he looks back and meets the Winter Soldier's gaze. The Winter Soldier roars, and doubles his body over so he can press his face into the pale man's neck and bite and suck a deep red love-mark there, claiming the pale man as his own, as his hips snap harder and harder and faster and faster, until heat travels through him like a lightning bolt and he finds himself coming, with jagged grunts, spilling himself copiously into the pale man.

~

After a while the Winter Soldier realises he is on his back and the pale man is lying on his chest, stroking his fingers through his dark hair there, looking into his face. As the Winter Soldier's eyes come into focus, he meets those of the pale man. The pale man smiles at him, a strange, sad, one-sided smile. The Winter Soldier feels so bone-deep exhausted and spent that he cannot bring himself to move the pale man, to stop his tenderness. Even the metal arm lies quiet and useless, for a change. The pale man's hand moves from his chest to his cheek, smoothing the stubble, thumb on the cheekbone, and they stay like that, together for a while. 


End file.
